


any further from home

by aweekofsaturdays



Series: bound up [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent, Body Worship, Car Sex, Diners, Everyone/Nice Things, F/M, Post-Graduation, Road Trips, Size Difference, brief mention of nightmares, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek isn't sure why Allison chose him, but he tries not to question it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	any further from home

**Author's Note:**

> For derekslaura, Winter 2015.

The highway stretches out in front of them, pavement dark and shimmering amidst the New Mexico dry scrub. Allison feels odd in the desert, no trees to provide convenient cover and a little too much sky to feel entirely comfortable. Derek drives, letting the Camaro do its thing on the longer straightaways, enjoying the steady rhythm of the road underneath them. 

For the first few days after they leave Beacon Hills, it’s awkward. Derek doesn’t know entirely why she wanted to leave, and why she picked him of all people. He just knows for himself that he’d started to feel like he couldn’t breathe at home, couldn’t see which way was up amidst all the grief and death and confusion. He misses his pack, both the one he was born into and the one he made and lost; she misses her family, wishes she could have kept the illusion of their infallibility that she’d held throughout her childhood.

They don’t decide on a destination, at least Derek doesn’t, and Allison doesn’t indicate one. They drive for the sake of it, feeling the miles stretch out behind them and breathing a little easier with each passing day. They talk about everything and nothing, movies they remember from when they were kids, and their favorite foods, skirting around the fact that they’ve been so busy fighting for their lives that the last few years have been a blur. Mostly Derek doesn’t think about why they left as the days go by, although occasionally he wonders what her dad would say if he knew where she’d gone and who she was with. 

Allison sings along with the radio when it’s her turn to drive, turning it into a full-on passenger seat dance party when she’s riding shotgun. Derek embarrasses himself and regrets nothing when he reveals and demonstrates that he knows every word to Total Eclipse of the Heart, and she cheers him on as he belts out the chorus. He catches himself laughing, and leans into it - he can’t remember the last time they were allowed to just... exist. 

Eventually, they pretend they can’t remember anymore whose idea it was to leave for a while (Allison’s) and who said yes to going (Derek). The important part is the endless afternoons on the road, the never-have-I-evers and the questions shot back and forth, chipping away at the remains of old grudges. 

They camp sometimes and get motels if it’s raining, but mostly they choose to stay out under the clear sky and the endless stars. Derek has glasses, Allison learns, and he can’t see the stars at night without them, so they lie together on the hood of the Camaro and she describes the patterns in the sky. She points out the constellations she can remember and Derek tells the old stories he can tug out of his memories from long ago, werewolf and human legend alike. 

Allison listens when Derek talks, waiting for him patiently and asking questions when he stalls. Eventually, she talks about her mom and how it felt to grow up in her shadow, how it is now that she’s gone and the Argent mantle lies waiting. Derek is quiet later, driving late into the night, when Allison shares how scared she is of being in charge, but he can see how she’s ready for it, how her voice firms up as she talks about how her family’s duty is to protect, not destroy, how angry she is at their transgressions. He can see that she could be the kind of Alpha he was never meant to be, and he tells her as much. She grins at him, tucking her chin into her shoulder and wrapping her arms around herself. She probably doesn’t need his belief in her, he thinks, but she seems pleased to have it. 

The days grow longer and weeks go by; Derek learns that Allison loves pie and so they make it a habit to stop whenever they find a diner, sliding into the plastic or vinyl booths and ordering breakfast at two in the morning. He’s never had much of a sweet tooth but he figures out that he loves pecan pie, and strawberry rhubarb, and banana cream. He doesn’t have much use for blueberry, doesn’t like the thin skins he can feel getting caught in his teeth. Her favorites are chocolate pudding pie and lemon cream, and she lights up whenever there’s cheesecake turning gracefully in a rotating case. He’s never had this much fun with food before, never enjoyed it like she does, and it feels good. He thinks he could get used to this. 

Closeness becomes a habit, when they get one bed at a motel or doze together in the tiny backseat of the Camaro. When it’s warm, which it often is as they move further south, they pull out the blankets and pillows and sleeping mats they picked up the first week, and make a nest somewhere out in the woods if they can find it. She hears him humming and they sing old folk songs together, Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell and anything else they can think of. Wherever they sleep, they notice that they both have fewer nightmares when they wake curled up together, his face tucked under her chin or her back pressed firmly to his front. 

Once, when they’re in a yellow-curtained motel room somewhere in New Mexico, he wakes from a violent mess of a dream, heart pounding and half-convinced he’s still being chased through the woods, muzzle bloody-- Allison wakes sleepily, turning on her side and cuddling into him. She holds him with her strong arms, and brushes her nose through his beard, pressing soft kisses to his jaw. He pulls her close, feeling the softness of her waist, the scent of her hair familiar by now. He breathes in shakily, letting her calm him, letting the warmth of her soothe away the shivers of nighttime terrors. 

She slips a leg between his, pressing closer, and he tips her chin up with one hand; her skin is so soft and her eyes liquid with sleep. When they kiss it feels inevitable, just a soft brush of lips and cuddling closer sleepily. They make out lazily, reveling in the warmth of the bed, the ebbing tension of nightmares soothed by their hands pressing into each other’s skin. It feels like a normal extension of whatever they’ve been building, stretched between them under each night sky and over the Camaro’s center console. 

There’s nothing to interrupt them at these kinds of moments, nothing to keep him from sneaking hands underneath her shirt and pressing carefully into the softness of her belly, the fullness of her hips. He loves the way her body looks, how it feels under him or over him and all around him, how she holds him tightly when she comes from his fingers rubbing against her, and how she laughs, surprised and breathy, kissing him again and again.

He almost doesn’t need it after that, could fall asleep again just kissing her and feeling the warm beat of her heart under his cheek, but Allison grins at him mischievously, and somehow between one breath and another he’s arching and coming, thrusting up shallowly into her clever hands. 

They drift back into sleep together after making a perfunctory attempt at cleanup, heartbeats slowing into steady rhythms and the scent of them both intermingling. They both dream, but neither can remember it in the morning.

For once they actually stop for breakfast at breakfast time, instead of just grabbing a granola bar and coffee from a gas station, and she gets pancakes and sausage and he gets something dumb like granola and fruit. They bicker lightly and tease each other for it, but she steals the pineapple out of his fruit and he gets half of her sausage because she knows now that he’d complain otherwise. They drink endless cups of coffee and stare at each other, laughing when one of them blinks first (it’s usually Allison, blushing away from his steady gaze). He thinks he’s allowed, so he reaches across the table to touch her cheek and he’s relieved when she leans into it, grinning, her eyes fond. 

They stop a few days later in a gas station in Colorado to get what Derek thinks is an inordinately large quantity of condoms, but Allison just quirks an eyebrow at him, challenging, and he flushes, hard. The weather is hot when they leave and they almost don’t make it to the car before they’re kissing, grabbing at each other’s clothes like they’re starving. 

He pulls off the road two miles after he pulls onto it, can’t deal with her hands all over him and in his pants. She tugs him out to smooth on a condom (“You really want jizz on your car?”) and goes down on him right there on the side of the road. 

He carefully tucks one hand into her hair and she makes an encouraging noise, and that’s how he learns she likes her hair pulled while giving head (thank the lord for that information) and his brain shorts out when he comes like he’s dying, lets himself go and rides out the shudders of it. 

He almost can’t wait until he gets the condom off and makes the barest effort at cleaning himself up before he’s shoving her back and dragging her skirt up, tearing her underwear and burying his face where she just smells so good; they fog up the windows like the worst cliche and later he can still feel the soreness of his shoulders where she dug her heels into him, her sneakers tied in careful bows. 

Of course there are still nights that follow when everything feels cold, when they huddle a little more closely together trying to stay warm, or when one or both of them awaken sweating from nightmares. Times like these, they grab at each other frantically, pressing fingers unforgivingly into hipbones and trying so hard to crawl inside each other, to get to somewhere they can try to forget the specters dogging their trail. Sometimes he even tears up when he comes hard enough, nosing damply into her neck and she holds him there, shaking with the intensity of her orgasm and feeling the stretch and ache in her thighs where they’re wrapped around him so tightly, just holding on as he shivers around and through her. 

Eventually, it’s not enough to drown their attention in each other, in this new thing they’re building and in the kisses they lay carefully in the hollows of each others’ collarbones. Days start to dawn when they both realize that the summer is coming to an end, when they wake up tangled in each other and miss the comforts of home. They both know that there’s going to be some kind of change as the days get shorter and the nights colder, summer ebbing into fall. Derek goes to run on his own more, shifting to catch the clear crispness of the wind with a sharper set of senses, while Allison spends more time looking over her shoulder, more mornings up early and sharpening arrows. 

They fuck with increasing desperation, him staying inside her longer, moving deeper, neither willing to draw away after. He’s rougher with her when she climbs into his lap frantically, her mouth red and bitten. He slings an arm around her waist, holding her so close as she begs him to hurry, and shoves into her as if he could leave himself there, at the center of her, warm and safe against everything else coming apart around them. He goes down on her until she’s worn out and shaking, scratching her soft thighs with his beard and rumbling with satisfaction when she squirms. He presses his big hands into her hips and watches the marks of his fingerprints redden and then deepen to purple. The marks are still there in the morning, when she reaches for his hand and puts it firmly on her leg, and he grins out the passenger side window, content to let her drive and let his thoughts spiral away along the endless miles. 

It’s starting to feel like autumn when she turns the car around for home in the middle of a straightaway in Kansas. She gently pulls off the road and flips around without comment, as if she’d suddenly realized they were going the wrong way. It makes sense that she was the one to reroute them, to set them back on the path they’d been avoiding together. She’s always had a stronger sense of herself, like a homing beacon for where she needed to be at any exact moment. Derek knew he’d always been meant to follow an alpha.

To other people, they must look like any other sightseeing couple when they stop at the Grand Canyon, at Four Corners. They know they’re homeward bound, though, that they’re living on borrowed time and it’s time to go back and face what they left behind. 

In the end, it takes them almost no time to get back to California. The desert melts away and changes with each passing border, and at every state line they look at each other and grin, wistfully, happy to be going home even if it means the end of this temporary escape. 

They stop just outside Beacon Hills for their last morning, eating roadside diner food and sucking down coffee. She keeps staring at him, studying him unabashedly, and it makes him nervous. “What?” he snaps, and immediately regrets it, grabbing her hand over the table. He uses his thumbs on the pressure points she likes, just kneading a little, waiting for whatever it is she’s turning over in her mind. His hands are so much larger than hers, he thinks idly, and yet hers are just as strong; he knows she can string a bow even he has trouble with. 

She keeps looking at him, and must see something that reassures her because she shrugs and relaxes, grinning at him and stealing a sip of his coffee with her free hand. She grimaces and gestures to the server for a refill; diner coffee is worse when it’s cold. When she looks back at him, her look softens, and her mouth twists. “I was worried about us,” she says, holding his gaze. “But I don’t think I have to be.”

It’s not a question but he answers it anyway, turning her palm over and kissing it when words fail him as they so often do. She smells like maple syrup as she leans across the table to press her lips to his, abandoning the coffee to smooth her other hand against his cheek, rubbing at his beard affectionately. 

“I thought so,” she says, sitting back and looking all too pleased with herself. He grins, ducking his chin as he blushes. 

They pay the check and when they leave, he takes her hand again. He knows he’s held it so many times now, has stroked her fingers where they pressed into his thigh as he drove, has grabbed her hand and dragged her into a motel room, shoving her down so he can get his mouth on her. Her fingers are familiar to him, wrapped around his own - he knows her body now, the way she dimples when she smiles and how her belly trembles when she’s close to coming.

This time feels different. This time, they’re going home together, and their hands clasped remind him now that if they need it, they’ll find their way to the road together again. He kisses her in the doorway of the diner and can’t resist dropping another kiss on her knuckles. It’s cheesy but he loves it, loves the way her face lights up as she swats at him and calls him a dork. He fakes like he’s going for a tackle and makes her shriek with laughter, wraps his arms around her and duck-walks with her back to the car. Her body is warm and soft in his arms, and he lets her go so they can grin at each other over the Camaro; he knows in his gut that her strength is something he won’t find it a hardship to follow home.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com/post/137102000777/any-further-from-home-by-aweekofsaturdays). Comments are love! Thank you for reading.
> 
> One note - Allison is definitely of legal age here, just to be clear. :)


End file.
